


Paper Planes

by irislullaby



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: French Mafia, Inspired by a Movie, Kites AU, M/M, Meaning of True Love, Mexican!Marco, Movie AU, Romance, french!Jean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2491133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irislullaby/pseuds/irislullaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired in Kites Movie.</p><p>Jean Kirschtein wakes up in a farm in the north of Mexico. Wounded and disoriented, Jean only remembers two words: Marco Bodt, and that he needs to find him before it is too late. He will have to travel all the way back to Las Vegas with the French Mafia hot in his heels, remembering what happened just a week ago in order to find Marco, never knowing who would turn against him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Planes

**Author's Note:**

> This is my new jeanmarco fic people! Based in the movie Kites, hope you really enjoy it! I'll try to keep posting chapters once I'm done with my other fic: All These Little Things. But the outline and all the story has been written so this should be fun!
> 
> Thank you so much to [Lauren](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MonoclePony/pseuds/MonoclePony) for beta reading my fic again! I will be lost without you!!! <3
> 
> Enjoy!

There was something I remember my friend Connie telling me a while ago, when my life wasn’t as shitty as it is right now, about what true love is. I know I’m gonna sound like a complete idiot romanticizing the idea of love, but if you’ve lived the same way I have, you would totally understand.

It’s fuzzy in my mind. A rain of flashbacks cross my mind as I open my eyes to a shy light coming from the window. Brown eyes wide with fear. Millions of lights in the middle of the night. Warm rain against the concrete of the street. Dust, and the sound of police sirens in the distance. And the warm touch of a hand sparkled with freckles.

All in white noise.

The sun is rising, and the pain in my back feels like a pair of bullets are being embedded in my shoulders and the lower part of my back. Maybe the reason for that is the because, yeah, I got two bullets in my back. They were barely removed by two country people in the north of Mexico, where the heat is nearly as unbearable as the pain when metal pierces your skin. It burns like fire, but the adrenaline makes it tolerable to keep going.

My story? It’s a little long, to be honest. The name is Jean Kirschtein. I was born in a poor town in France (I don’t really remember the name, I barely lived there) but brought to America thanks to my father, an industrial worker who gave my mom and I the green card to become honorable American citizens.

The fact that I ended up in some shitty town, maybe in Tijuana- or some city in the north of Mexico, anyway- and wounded is just the outcome of my tragic story. Shit, since when am I this much of a drama queen? Anyway, I’ll tell you all you want to know, as soon as the lovely redheaded lady helps me get up to change my bandages.

Her name is Petra. She lives in the farm next to the train tracks where her husband Aurou found me. They were unloading their wagon- I was bleeding to death. So they helped. They were kind. I mean, I barely heard them say they would have to get the bullets out themselves because the nearest hospital was at least 90 miles away. It was raw. The pain woke me up, but then it numbed me to the point where I was neither conscious nor unconscious. All I could see was chocolate. Warm and watery chocolate spotted with light.

I don’t really remember what day is, and as soon as I ask Petra she tells me I’ve been out for almost three days.

I gotta move. I gotta find a way to go back and help. Because there is no way I could stay here at this peaceful place when…

It takes another day to finally get to sit on my ass without feeling too much pain. And another one to finally get on my feet.

I get dressed with the clothes Oulo lends me, since my own clothes I was wearing when they found me were ruined from the blood. Did I tell you Aurou is an ass? He keeps saying I need to eat more to fill his _manly_ clothes, and some shit in Spanish that I really don’t get, and Petra’s always apologizing for him.

I really don’t care, and that’s the main reason I kept myself quiet while Petra sat me at the table, arguing that even if Aurou was a pain in the ass, she wasn’t letting me leave her house without eating anything for my trip.

“It is a long way back, anyways,” she had told me.

I never told them where I was going or why. That’s why I declined their offer to take me to the frontier in their old truck. If the wrong people found me with them, I couldn’t bear the responsibility. If something happened to them...

They just happened to find me, for god sake.

As soon as I put a foot outside, the hot air kissed my face. The white light blinded me for a second. The calm noise of the countryside gave me a farewell. I breathed deep one last time before stepping into the dirt.

There wasn’t really anything I could take with me. There was a long way back home that I needed to do all by myself.

I was about to cross the entrance of the farm when I heard Aurou shouting for me back at his planting, sitting on a wooden box while wiping the sweat of his forehead with the sleeve of his worn-out shirt.

“Once you get there,” he said when I stopped my tracks and turned back to him, “what are you going to do?”

It was hard to get what he was saying with his thick Mexican accent. I fell quiet for a few seconds. I knew what I was going to do when I got back to Las Vegas, but my mouth was dry for all the adrenaline used up in the last week.

But Aurou just smirked at me, getting back to his awful carrots in the ground.

“Make sure to find your true love.”

I rolled my eyes, turning back to my tracks, stepping out of the farm and walking to the main road. ‘Finding your true love’ is an ambiguous statement. It makes it sound so easy, like when you are looking the sock that is missing in your drawer. And I can tell you for sure that his idea of _true love_ is as cheap as a pair of socks bought at Ross.

Like my friend Connie said, when you find your true love, there is nothing you won’t do for them. It isn’t true love when you put their happiness over yours, but when you find your happiness in their eyes, sparkling under the hot sun of the desert, toasted skin shining under the shadow of the trees, holding your hands wearing white clothes.

True love has a name. A name I bring tattooed under my skin. A name I remember as dust and dirt gets in the air as I walk this dammed hot and lonely desert.

My story is quite long- like I said. And it begins and ends with a name.

The name of true love: Marco Bodt.


End file.
